


Robin's Thirtieth Birthday

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Post-Lethal White, Robin's Thirtieth, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: “Come on, who’s up for Spin the Bottle?” Nick had reappeared, triumphant, brandishing an empty wine bottle at the roomful of people.Robin turns thirty and a game of "Spin the Bottle" goes exactly where you're thinking it does. This is completely ridiculous, but I promise it's also completely fun. :D





	Robin's Thirtieth Birthday

“So what do you think?” Robin asked Ilsa as soon as they were safely in the kitchen. She focused on trying to open the party-size bag of crisps in front of her. She was a bit tipsy; her fingers fumbled enough that Vanessa reached across, took the bag from her and opened it. 

She saw her two friends exchange a look.

“He’s – he’s very nice,” said Ilsa.

Robin groaned. Vanessa smiled and poured the crisps into the bowl. “Nice is good, Robin. Greg _is_ nice.”

“Yes, but why does it sound like the most boring personality trait in the world, when you two say it?”

Vanessa didn’t reply, but Ilsa grinned. “Well, now that you mention it – “

Robin sighed. “I know. Greg is very…safe. But he’s also polite, and kind.” She gestured in the air helplessly. “Besides, who else do you have in mind for me? Wait!” She held up her hand in front of Ilsa. “Don’t answer that.”

Vanessa laughed. “Robin, you know we just want you to be happy.” She rolled her eyes succinctly in Ilsa’s direction. “This one just wants your happiness to be with Strike.”

Robin sighed. “That’s – complicated.”

Vanessa munched on a crisp. “I do rather like the thought of you and him as a couple.”

Robin shook her head in mock sternness. “Not you, too! I’ll admit I have – certain – feelings - for him-“

As if on cue, Strike came into the kitchen and saw the three women. Robin flushed and immediately went to the fridge, grabbing a beer from inside it and relishing the cool air on her cheeks. She heard Strike tell Ilsa he’d been sent to find where the crisps had gone to, and take the bowl before leaving for the living room again. 

Robin let out the breath she’d been holding and closed the fridge door to see Vanessa and Ilsa’s wry faces. 

“Don’t,” she warned them, laughing. “Don’t say a word.” She left the kitchen as well. Time to find Greg.

XXXXXXXX

_“Happy Birthday to you..”_

There was a certain something about turning thirty, Robin reflected, as she watched Nick’s beaming face, cake held aloft as he walked towards her. She actually did feel much older, she realized. It was a bit of a surprise – turning twenty had not felt as momentous. 

“Happy Birthday to you…”

What _was_ a surprise, was how proud of herself she felt. She was a very different woman from twenty year-old Robin. A woman that she was truly getting to know, and a woman that she truly liked. 

_“Happy Birthday dear Robin…”_

She looked around at the small crowd of people that formed the closest thing she had to family here in London. Warm Nick and beloved Ilsa. Steady Vanessa and her stoic boyfriend Oliver. Her dear, giggly new mates from library book club Amanda and Daisy, who threw her a wink. Toby and Chris, from running club, grinning at her as Nick placed the cake in front of her. Greg, with his hand warm in hers beside her as she leaned across the candles. 

And of course, the tall figure standing against the wall behind Toby and Chris’ partners. Robin allowed herself a glance up at his face. Strike was looking right at her, grinning as he sang along, raising a solitary eyebrow at the number of candles in a silent, friendly tease. 

_“Happy Birthday to you.”_

Robin kept her eyes on Strike’s, then closed them. She opened them again at Greg’s squeezing of her hand, took a deep breath, and blew.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“That’s wrong, that’s totally wrong, I made the first move and you know it!” Nick threw his arm around his wife, his smile broad. 

Ilsa rolled her eyes fondly. “Who, out of the two of us, has the better memory?”

“You do,” the normally quiet Vanessa chimed in, drawing a laugh from the assembled group that was louder than the thudding music and the chattering crowd. More people had come by; a few more new friends of Robin’s; a few more of Nick and Ilsa’s crowd. The party was in full, excited swing. More than a few people, Robin included, were more than one drink in.

Robin had lost sight of Strike awhile ago, and was trying hard not to care. 

“Alright, Rob!” said Ilsa suddenly, removing Nick’s arm from her shoulders and placing it around her waist. They settled down in the loveseat to the right. “You’re thirty, which means you’re now officially twice the age you were at fifteen! Any favourite party memories or games from that celebration?”

Robin laughed. “Oh god. My fifteenth?” She cast back; it was years ago, before she and Matthew were a couple. Her brain came up with flashes of happy, hormone-fueled dances and sleepover parties filled with giggles. A sudden memory of Tom Greenwater, a crush that pre-dated Matt, and an unfulfilled wish at a long-ago party. 

“What on earth is that blush from?” teased Daisy. “Teenage Robin must have had a few good birthdays!”

“Teenage Robin,” Robin grinned, “was part of a game of spin-the-bottle that ended in teenage heartbreak.”

“Spin the BOTTLE!” Nick slapped a hand on his thigh as Daisy and Ilsa squealed at Robin. “We’re playing.”

“What? Nick, no.” Ilsa looked at him in mock horror. 

“Oh yes, lets!” said Daisy from beside Robin.

“Yes – come on, why not? We’ll keep it chaste, we’re adults – “ Nick had stood up and was heading towards the kitchen amid a chorus of excitement.

“I’m game,” said a voice beside her, and Robin looked over at Greg. She had almost forgotten he was beside her. “Could end up kissing the birthday girl herself.” He smiled at her. Of course. Spin the Bottle with dear, sweet Greg. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin caught the heavy stride of a tall figure, being steered into the room by an exultant Nick. 

“Alright, Oggy, here we are! We’re playing a party game and you’re part of it!” He pushed Strike towards them before disappearing once again.

Strike looked at Ilsa with an expression that could only be called pleading. 

Ilsa flicked her eyes towards Robin, then clapped her hands together suddenly. “Yes, Corm! Spin the Bottle, come on, you’re playing, no excuses allowed!” 

Strike shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on Cormoran, we’re all playing!” said Daisy, beaming at him. 

“Then you already have enough players,” said Strike, deadpan, as a determined Ilsa pushed him further into the circle. Robin was aware of her heart picking up speed.

“Come on, who’s up for Spin the Bottle?” Nick had reappeared, triumphant, brandishing an empty wine bottle at the roomful of people. 

A few more party goers gathered around; two of Ilsa’s friends and a co-worker of Nick’s.

“Alright, excellent!” Nick was gleeful. 

Robin watched as Strike settled himself with resignation into a sofa chair that Ilsa pointed to, and took a huge swig of his beer. 

“Ground rules!” Ilsa had placed the bottle on the carpet in the middle of the circle of people. “No pressure, nothing too crazy. Just a quick kiss will do – but,” she grinned cheekily, “it does have to be on the lips.” She glanced around the circle. “Sound good?”

“Great!” Greg crowed beside Robin and wrapped his arm around her; she glanced over at him and tried to feel the same level of excitement at the prospect of kissing him. She was aware, on the periphery of her vision, of Strike taking another heavy pull from his bottle.

“Who wants to start?” Ilsa turned around and held out the bottle in Strike’s direction: he looked back at her darkly. She laughed. “Alright, I’ll go.” She placed the bottle on the carpet and spun. It circled once before settling unmistakeably on Nick. 

“Rigged!” teased Nick’s colleague. Nick grinned. “Come here, Ils.” He stood up and tugged Ilsa to her feet, placed his hands gently on either side of Ilsa’s face, and drew her in for a kiss. It was sweet, thorough, and definitely didn’t fall into the category of “quick.” 

“Alright, alright, you two, we get it!” said one of Ilsa’s friends good-naturedly, and Nick and Ilsa broke apart, smiling. Ilsa’s cheeks were flushed. Nick took a bow, and the group laughed. 

“My go, yeah?” Nick’s eyes were sparkling as Ilsa sat down and he gave the wine bottle a twist. It moved, flashing in a blur, before landing on Daisy.

“Oh my god!” she said, laughing. “I can’t follow up that kiss with your wife!” She and Nick leaned towards each other, Nick giving her a split-second peck on the lips before Daisy burst out into giggles, her colour rising. Ilsa gave Nick a wink as he sat back down, taking her hand in his.

Daisy reached for the bottle. “Okay, let’s see!” 

Her spin wasn’t strong, it turned barely an inch before the nose pointed at the silent figure of Strike. Robin watched his face – she couldn’t tell whether he was amused or not as he hauled himself to his feet, beer bottle still in one hand. He held out his other hand to Daisy with a sudden grin and Robin felt her own cheeks go horribly warm. 

Daisy gave a small squeal and bounced up, taking his hand. Strike drew her in smoothly, still holding her hand as he bent his tall frame to her face, placing a kiss directly on her mouth. Robin stared at the stubble on his jaw; her memory flashing back to that hot parking lot, an innocent brush of those lips on hers, that same stubble rough on her skin. Strike leaned back and gave Daisy a friendly smile. She looked slightly breathless. Robin couldn’t blame her. 

Strike handed the wine bottle to Daisy. “You can spin and take my turn, the carpet’s a bit far down for me.” 

“Sure!” Daisy giggled. She spun again, this time landing on Robin.

Robin grinned at Daisy, shrugging her shoulders. “You are just my type, Daize,” she said playfully to her friend. She leaned in, giving Daisy’s smile a quick press, to catcalls and laughter from the group.

“You lot calm down,” declared Daisy with dignity, giving Robin a quick hug. 

Robin reached down in front of her, grabbing for the bottle, her heart pounding. She gave the bottle a quick, efficient spin. Robin watched it circle like a top for what felt like a minute before settling, almost with a feeling of inevitability, across from her. 

She allowed herself to look up. Strike’s expression was impassive. Robin got up from the couch and Strike stood too, this time putting his beer down on the table beside him. They walked towards each other until they were barely an inch apart. There was a roaring in her ears; the party and circle of people around them seemed blurred. Robin had a fleeting impression of those blue-green eyes coming towards her before closing her own, feeling a hesitant brush of his lips against hers. 

She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe Strike was kissing her, game or not, and the realization spurred her on. She opened her mouth and flicked her tongue against his lips, inviting. She felt his sharp intake of breath, felt his surprise, then-

His hand came up on the base of her spine, pulling her roughly into his hips and holding her there. His other hand came up and cupped the back of her head, threading fingers through her hair and tilting her face slightly. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting of beer and smoke. She opened her own mouth further, letting him in, feeling a bolt of heat shoot down to her toes as Strike’s tongue stroked the underside of hers, deepening the kiss. 

Strike kissed the same way he did everything else; with careful intent, with quiet skill, with passion beneath the surface. It was bliss, it was better than she imagined, it was fucking fantastic. Robin didn’t think she’d ever experienced such a heady kiss in her life. Her senses felt blown wide open. His large hand on her back, cold from holding the beer bottle. His tongue claiming hers, the strokes an unconscious echo of her pulse, thudding in her ears. Her hands went up of their own accord, exploring his broad, large body. She reached up and tangled her fingers into his dark hair, then brushed them down his face, feeling that rough stubble on his jaw. He was kissing her breathless, his tongue working; there was no mistaking his desire, he was completely letting go of reserve. She felt him rock his hips against her, almost imperceptibly, and she moved hers in response; she felt as if their bodies were lining up-

She knew people were watching, she knew this was long past the point of appropriate, but she couldn’t help it, he was kissing her like he was drowning in her and it was the best kiss of her life and it was _Strike._ She was losing control, she moaned into his mouth-

“Okay!” she heard Nick shout, and Strike immediately broke the kiss and stepped away, Robin’s hands unclenching themselves from the fabric at the front of his shirt (when had she started clinging to him?) before letting them fall to her sides. How long had that kiss lasted?

The group was whooping, she saw Ilsa’s hands in front of her mouth, eyes wide with glee, saw Greg’s look of confusion and Daisy’s knowing smile. She forced herself to look at Strike. His face betrayed nothing, but he was a little out of breath. Suddenly, he took hold of her wrist and pulled her gently forward again, whispering in her ear. 

“Happy Birthday.” He released her hand, turning around and walking back to his chair, and Robin, feeling floaty, gave the group a broad, if shaky, smile before sitting back down. There was a roaring in her ears. Greg was saying something half-angrily, half-jokingly to her, but she didn’t hear it; her eyes were locked on Strike’s, who took a gulp from his bottle, his own eyes not leaving hers.


End file.
